


Fairgrounds

by sephcounttheways



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Trailer Trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29765139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sephcounttheways/pseuds/sephcounttheways
Summary: Rufus Shin-Ra is the Vice President of the biggest company in the world, and he needs a place to lay low for a while. Turns out money can't buy class, and he's easily the trashiest person at this trailer park.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough/Tifa Lockhart, Sephiroth/Cloud Strife, Zack Fair/Rufus Shinra
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13
Collections: FFVII Secret Spring





	Fairgrounds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Up_sideand_down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Up_sideand_down/gifts).



Trailer Trash Trigger Warning: This story is about trailer trash. Drug use, violence, murder, mentions of suicide, mentions of prostitution, general low lifing antics but a happy ending for everyone we care about guaranteed in advance.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

  
  


The Uber driver skidded to a stop at the entrance of Fairgrounds.

Rufus huffed from the backseat, “Are you not going to take me into the place?”

“This is as far as I'll go.”

It was just absolutely pissing down rain, turning the earth into slick mud beneath Rufus’ polished loafers. He slipped a little as he exited the Uber, but turned to grab his briefcase, the only thing he had with him.

Before he could even get the door closed, the vehicle spun out in the muddy water, sending it flying back to cover Rufus’ white suit up to his shins. He smashed his briefcase against the window and bellowed, “I can't wait to leave you a review! You're getting _one_ star!”

If the driver cared he surely didn’t show it. It'd taken Rufus six different attempts in the pouring rain to connect with an Uber driver who'd even take him this far outside of Midgar, much less to Fairgrounds.

Rufus had never been here before, but it didn’t appear to be as bad as its reputation would have the world believe. It was similar to any other cheap motel he’d ever seen, and despite being the Vice President of the Shin-Ra Electric Company he'd seen many.

There was the rental office attached to a two story building a with four small rooms on each floor. Several smaller trailers were dotted around a graveled parking lot, which was littered with rust bucket automobiles and came complete with a black pit bull sleeping under the shelter of a picnic table.

He rapped on the office’s door, getting soaking wet as he waited for a response. Finally he jiggled the handle and let out an exasperated groan as it was unlocked and opened right up. He stepped into the office, slicking his wet hair back and wiping the water off his face. It didn't help much but he couldn't endeavor to care.

"Hello?" Rufus called impatiently.

"Hey," Came the answer, and the office worker came strolling from the back room. His face was covered in dark scruff, his long rock and roll mane of hair didn't look like it'd been brushed in the past decade. But his body was something to behold in its shirtless glory; a stacked stud was the last thing Rufus had expected to encounter, but even in these trying circumstances Rufus was still a man who could appreciate a great set of pecs.

Rufus tried to keep his attention maintained on the man's face, "I need a room for ten nights."

"Ten nights," The owner repeated with a yawn, and quickly swallowed the drawn out sound with a smile. He lazily turned the pages of a three ring binder which seemed to denote which rooms were available - the fucking office didn't even have a computer in it, “I don't have anything available."

“You don't have _anything_?”

“Nope.”

“You have something.”

“... We have a cabin, but it's a duplex. It comes with some baggage from the neighbors.”

"Sounds lovely," Rufus agreed quickly.

“You don't wanna know what the baggage is?”

“I don't care,” Rufus had a full script of Xanax and intended to use it for the next ten days.

"Alright then. That'll be forty gil a night, paid each day at checkout time."

"I'll pay upfront," Rufus insisted, quickly pulling out a thousand gil and handing it over, and looking into the worker's blue eyes meaningfully, "… You don't know who I am."

"You're right, I don't," he agreed and folded the cash in his back pocket, unwittingly flexing. He had great arms, like he cut down trees everyday for the past twenty-something years. It was almost easy to believe that maybe this guy _didn't_ know who he was, but Rufus refused to believed anyone this close to Midgar didn't recognize the VP of the biggest corporation and military complex in the world. "If you have any complaints about the residents around here, don't hesitate to come tell me and I’ll deal with them. My name's Zack, I'm the owner."

"Hm," Rufus agreed, forgetting the man's name immediately.

"Here's your key. When you leave take a left, the cabin's toward the east end of the lot. Don't be afraid of Dark Nation, she's chained up."

"Of course," Rufus nodded, assuming the man was referring to the pit bull. He scooped up his briefcase and opened the door, “... Which way is east?”

Zack slowly picked up his hand from the counter and pointed. Rufus nodded indignantly and left.

He ran through the rain in what was apparently east towards the cabin. There were steps leading up to a little porch and two doors right beside each other. Lights were on in the adjoining side, and Rufus hoped his neighbors wouldn't disturb the peaceful coma he was about to embark upon.

The place itself was kind of a relief. The carpet seemed like something found on a miniature golf course, and the furniture was mismatched and outdated, but otherwise the place looked perfectly clean. There was a little sofa and a small kitchen, and then an adjoining bedroom.

Rufus yanked all the curtains shut and stripped off his soaked clothes. Thankfully there was plenty of hot water, and he stood under the stream for a long while.

Three hours earlier, he'd shot his father in the face.

Rufus suffered terribly from the 'poor little rich boy' syndrome, and he knew it. He knew it because every other little rich boy he'd ever known felt the same way, and talked about the day their parents would finally die with longing. Despite his billions, he'd never found an ounce of love or compassion in the arms of his parents. They assumed money should be enough to make any child happy, but Rufus didn't know why. They had all the money they could ever want, and they were both fucking miserable.

Miserable people knew how to party, though. Rufus had more money than he and all of his junkie friends could spend in ten lifetimes. He'd been shooting up with celebrities since he was ten, he got arrested for drunk driving at eleven, he knifed a guy in a club for touching him at twelve, he had his first overdose at thirteen, he lost his virginity on film at fourteen, he went to rehab for the first time at fifteen, and then he'd been given a Vice Presidency of the largest company in the world at sixteen.

Now he was twenty, he was pretty much clean. He'd been stone cold sober as he murdered his father.

Rufus had been screaming for help since he was a child. But all his father did was throw money at the problems to make them go away. There was no judge, lawyer, cop, SOLDIER or Turk on Earth who couldn't be bought. Therapy was of no use, because they simply didn't speak Rufus' language. Telling him to find a peaceful, spiritual center within himself was difficult because he had no center. He had no soul.

Rufus didn't know how to be happy, but he'd come very close seeing his father tremble at the end of a sawed off shotgun barrel.

He got out of the shower and into bed without drying off. He didn't need Xanax to sleep, but took a few anyway.

  
  


-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

  
  


He woke up to a knock at the door. His vision was blurred as he felt for his phone, but he'd wiped it and tossed it out of the Uber driver's window as they were leaving Midgar. There was a little clock beside the bed and he picked it up and squinted at it – it was just past seven o'clock, but he wasn't sure if it was day or night.

Another knock came from the other side of the door. He guessed the Turks might have found him. If they had, he was prepared to take as many down with him as he could.

He opened his briefcase, which contained what he normally carried with him on a typical day – cash, his waller, his gun, some cigarettes. He'd been lucky to have a freshly filled bottle of Xanax from the medical lab, because he surely didn't plan to murder his dad and have to run away.

So this might as well conclude his life. He began to assemble his shotgun with muscle memory precision that didn't require blur-free vision. He sighed, pulled his damp pants back on and almost looked in the mirror to see how he'd look on the news as he died in a shootout with his own bodyguards, but decided that appearance would be the furthest thing from his mind in his final moments.

In just a few minutes, he was going to be free.

There was another knock on the door, this time it was pounding and insistent.

He looked through the peephole and instead of a fleet of Turks and SOLDIERs, it was some local idiot, and he opened the door with a mixture of relief and disappointment, “What?”

The guy would be pretty good looking if he wanted to be, but alas he was a crackhead. His hair was a blonde helmet of disheveled spikes, and he had a fresh black eye. He was wearing what kind of looked like a post office uniform, and his arms and legs were covered in disgusting bruises, “Did Zack tell you about the water?”

Rufus squinted at him, “What?”

“Can you turn off our water?”

“ _What_?”

“I'm Cloud, your neighbor. The water to our place is controlled from – can I just come in real quick and turn it off myself?”

“No.”

“Please? It'll only take a second.”

At least he was a polite crackhead, so Rufus finally gave in and stood aside, but didn't put his gun down, just in case this guy was trying to rob him or otherwise do something crazy. He followed him to the kitchen, and beneath the sink there were handles that Rufus knew absolutely nothing about.

The guy went down on one knee and turned one of them a few times, “Our's is the one on the right. Will you please turn it back on tomorrow morning?”

“What? Why?”

“I work nights. I don't want to worry about my boyfriend drowning while I'm gone.”

This seemed to make perfect sense to the guy, and Rufus had enough experience with crackheads to just nod along, “Sure, whatever.”

“Zack normally checks on my boyfriend a couple times a night. He shouldn't give you any trouble, but if he does just call Zack.”

Rufus didn't want to hear one more goddamn word about this crackhead guy's crackhead boyfriend, “Whatever, it'll be fine!”

“Thank you. Are you staying long?”

“No,” Rufus said, walking to the door. He opened it and waited, shotgun in hand.

Cloud took the hint and exited. Before Rufus could close the door, he turned suddenly and blurted, “Are you gonna kill yourself?”

Rufus froze for a moment. It was like the bluntness of the question forced the bluntness of the truth, “... I dunno.”

“Please don't. But if you do, can you try to do it tomorrow morning? Or at least don't shoot yourself. I don't need that happening again when my boyfriend's here alone.”

“Again?” Rufus laughed, but it died off quickly when the serious glare coming from his neighbor didn't waver. He shrugged in agreement, “... I won't blow my head off until morning, and I'll make sure the water's back on before I do. _Got it_.”

“Thank you.”

Rufus slammed the door, angry for no reason. If he'd gone to more therapy sessions he'd realize that it wasn't anger he was feeling – it was empathy, but the emotion was so foreign to him that it pissed him off just the same.

He stormed back to his bed, and instinctively started searching for his phone before he remembered yet again that he didn't have one anymore. So instead he got back up and dropped down onto the couch in the living room and turned on the television. Since there were only a handful of channels, the news wasn't hard to find.

The biggest story of the day seemed to involve an ice hockey championship.

Rufus' brow furrowed as he watched, reading all the information on the screen, and found nothing about his father or himself. The death of President Shin-Ra and disappearance of son and murderer Vice President Rufus Shin-Ra was going to be the biggest story of the decade, Midgar News should have been all over it by now.

They weren't reporting it. They were going to cover it up somehow. Rufus wasn't sure if this was a good thing or very, very bad.

Running away was preferable in every possible way to a life as the Vice President of the Shin-Ra Electric Company, and he didn't really have to kill his father to do it, but it just felt so fucking good. It was all spur of the moment - nothing about the murder was planned. He wasn't even really planning on quitting his job, it was an argument and things just –

Rufus went back to the bedroom, peeled his damp pants back off and pulled the blanket up over his head.

There was so much to do.

He had enough cash on him to last a while in outskirts places like this, and besides that he had a fairly secret account in Costa del Sol under a different name when he needed more. He needed a new identity before he could make any major moves beyond just holing up for a few days. He desperately needed a new phone.

And he should change his hair, probably. He needed different clothes. He didn't even have a toothbrush with him.

Rufus took a couple more Xanax before turning the lights back off and rolling onto his stomach to sink face down into another stretch of peaceful nothing.

  
  


-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

  
  


Rufus wasn't entirely sure about the passage of time but it'd been about three days since he'd eaten. Mostly he'd just been sleeping, and it was punctuated by brief visits from the blonde crackhead or the Fairgrounds owner guy coming to ask him to turn off or on the stupid water.

Other than that the coma was going pretty well, but eventually his body wanted food, water, stuff like that. Three days without food was nothing in his younger addict days but he kind of fucking needed to eat something as soon as possible.

He battled with his pride a little bit before picking up the phone beside the couch and calling the leasing office.

“Fairgrounds.”

Rufus knew the answer, but asked anyway, “Do you offer any sort of room service?”

“What?”

“Can I give you some amount of money, and in return you bring me some form of food?” was the clarification.

“Dude in the cabin?”

“You know goddamn well who this is!” Rufus spat.

“We don't do room service.”

“Does anywhere deliver out here?”

“Nobody's coming out this far to deliver _food_ ,” and then there was an extended, loaded silence. “... There's a vending machine by the laundry room. It probably still has something in it.”

Rufus blew out some air, “I'll give you a hundred gil if you have a Powerbar and a sealed bottle of water somewhere in this facility.”

“... Look, there's plenty of people around here who go into Midgar and can arrange a supply pickup for you. Just ask someone around here and they'll be able to help you out.”

“I don't have time to make friends with drug dealers so they'll bring me a burger.”

“If you're not able to go to the city, you better start to learn how to be friendly. Just sayin'.”

Rufus hung up on him, and defiantly went to the kitchen and began searching for anything. There was some ketchup in the refrigerator. And in the cupboards, there was an ancient looking box of rice with a little bit left in it. There were also some basic dishes, so he filled a pot with water, drank the entire thing, then filled it again to boil the fucking rice.

When it was done, or done enough, he dumped some ketchup onto his rice and sat down to eat, perfectly indignant as he stuffed a spoonful into his mouth. The ketchup was a mistake, so he spooned most of it right back out and into the sink, and then stood there eating not-quite-as-covered-in-ketchup rice.

Rufus began to cry. It was definitely self pity, but also a very creeping realization that he was completely, absolutely fucked out here.

He sat on the steps of the porch as the sky turned dark orange, and then purple. Early stars began to appear when the neighbor's door opened. Rufus flicked his cigarette and turned to look, and the blonde crackhead's hair was still stranding mostly straight up. Apparently this was something he lived with permanently. He was always in his weird little delivery post office type of uniform, and he didn't look quite as bruised up as Rufus remembered him.

Rufus rose to his feet to greet him, “Hey!”

The crackhead seemed a bit taken aback, and quickly pulled his door shut behind him, “... Hello. Is everything okay? My boyfriend didn't bother you last night, did he?”

“Huh? Oh, no not at all! I just wanted to formally reintroduce myself,” and at that moment Rufus realized he didn't even have a fake name prepared. In a panic he recalled the name on his account in Costa del Sol, “I'm... Estaban.”

“Cloud.”

“What?”

“That's my name.”

“Oh, right! Of course,” Rufus agreed, his voice raising an octave as he repeated the crackhead's name so he wouldn't forget it again. “Cloud! I'm sure you are very busy so I'm just going to cut to the chase – I left Midgar in a small hurry and I'm just finding myself in need of some basic supplies. Could you help me with that?”

Cloud shifted where he stood a little, “All of my shit's spoken for. I mean I have a very, very limited personal inventory, but I really only deliver to a specific list of – ”

“Oh! No no!” Rufus laughed, his voice raising another octave. “Not uh, those kind of supplies. Although I'd love to hear about your inventory sometime, but uh, right now I just really need some cereal.”

“Special K isn't on my inventory.”

“Seriously, I'm not talking about drugs. I would really love to pay you to bring me some milk and a very large box of Lucky Charms. _Two_ boxes! And if you could bring me some of those sandwiches they have at Starbucks I'd love – ”

“What the fuck?” Cloud let out a little sigh, “Dude... just... I really have somewhere to be.”

“Of course!” Rufus realized he was blocking the stairs and moved aside so Cloud could leave. “But like, do you think you could do it?”

Cloud seemed to be getting shorter by the minute, and was utterly deflated as he turned around, “Make a list of what you want and give it to me tomorrow. I'll bring it back here for twenty gil.”

“That's it?” Rufus scoffed before he could stop himself.

“You wanna pay me more?” Cloud scoffed right back.

“How does a hundred sound?”

“... Seriously?”

“Of course. But you need to bring me back something _tonight_.”

Cloud seemed to regain some height, “Well... I mean, okay. You literally just want Lucky Charms and Starbucks shit, though?”

“That'll do for tonight, but I might need a few other things tomorrow. Not drugs! Have plenty of what I like. I just... can't go back to the city right now.”

“I understand. Just make a list.”

“Uh... In the meantime, can I buy some food from you?”

Cloud glanced at his front window and a little smile curled his mouth. Rufus turned to look, but the curtain was shut again by the time he turned around. Cloud became a little impatient then, “What do you want?”

“Anything. I'll eat _anything_ at this point.”

“Hang on,” Cloud grabbed the handrail and jumped up all the steps at once and let himself back inside. A minute or two later he returned with a plate carrying the best looking sandwich that had ever been assembled – Rufus could see turkey, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and this kickass seeded wheat bread. There were fucking olives on the plate, too! And a lunchbox size bag of Cheetos, a little sealed cup full of fruit cocktail, and a fucking can of Diet Coke in Cloud's other hand.

Rufus dug into his pocket and retrieved his wallet, and pulled out a five-hundred gil note, “Thank you so fucking much.”

Cloud 's eyes were enormous, and he traded the plate for the money hesitantly, “It's no problem... do you want anything else right now? We don't have any Lucky Charms but we have some Frosted Mini Wheats. It's the blueberry kind, though.”

“I'll take it,” Rufus commanded and tried to pull out his wallet again while balancing all the other items.

Cloud shook his head so hard every spike on his head moved, “It's okay! Just wait here...”

Rufus was already halfway done with the sandwich when Cloud returned with the box of cereal and a carton of milk.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Rufus said, his mouth full as he turned to his door.

“Mister – eh, Estaban,” Cloud called.

Rufus paused before turning around, almost forgetting his own fake name, “Yeah?”

“The water – can you shut it off?”

“Indubitably,” Rufus assured as he took another bite of his sandwich, “What's the deal with that, anyway?”

“I don't want to worry about my boyfriend drowning while I'm gone.”

“Right,” Rufus agreed, clearly not going to get any further detail. But the more he interacted with him, the less Cloud seemed like a crackhead, but it seemed he was likely living with one.

Rufus ate everything, including the entire box of cereal while making a list of what he wanted on the Fairgrounds notepad and pen laying on his kitchen counter. He needed clothes, he needed bathroom shit, he needed food, he needed hair dye, but most importantly he needed information on getting a solid enough new identity to be able to travel. He was pretty sure Cloud would be able to handle all that, especially if Rufus kept pulling out those big notes.

Once the list was made and his tummy was full, Rufus went to sleep.

Around noon, he found himself awake and feeling a little but listless. He flipped through the channels, found nothing of interest, and eventually put some pants on and worked up the nerve to wander outside.

He lit a cigarette and strolled over to the picnic bench, and peered underneath. The pitbull was gone, but the chain was still there. He sat down on the table and looked at the sky, smiling a little and musing about the fact that he hadn't just looked at the sky in a really long time. Maybe not ever in his life. And he'd been shirtless in the sun before but right then it just felt so... real.

Right when Rufus was feeling pretty Zen about existence, a low, rumbling growl began to crescendo from behind him. Getting ripped to shreds by a pitbull wouldn't have been such a bad way to go. So he closed his eyes and just waited for it.

Instead, there was a voice, “Hey guy, nobody really uses this table.”

Rufus opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder. The owner guy was there, and this time he had a shirt on. Still had great arms. Still looked like he didn't bathe, “Why's it here, then?”

“Dark Nation likes to sleep outside. It's kind of her unofficial place.”

Rufus looked down and realized it wasn't a pitbull at all, “What the hell is that thing?”

“Adorable,” the owner said without smiling. “Get off her house.”

The dog-beast thing wasn't chained and wasn't happy about Rufus' presence, but didn't lunge or attack as he slid off the table and meekly stepped aside to allow Zack to attach her collar to the chain. She seemed very content then, and walked in a tight circle before dropping into the shadow beneath the table where the dirt had conformed to cradle where she liked best to lay.

“Is there anyplace around to sunbathe?” Rufus asked facetiously. "Possibly dockside?"

“We're really lacking in amenities,” the owner said, a smile tightening his lower face. “This isn't that kind of place, in case you haven't noticed.”

“Doesn't seem that bad.”

“ _That_ bad? What have you heard?”

“Oh, nothing. I didn't mean...” Rufus fumbled a little, “Happy to be here.”

“You're gonna be here way longer than ten days.”

Rufus looked at him for a few long moments, “... Maybe?”

“You're not going anywhere,” Zack kicked a little dirt as he slowly spun on his heel and made his way back to the office.

**Author's Note:**

> Up_sideand_down was kind enough to include something really irresistible as a prompt for the Spring Exchange - post something you've been working on but never got around to finishing. I've been tinkering with this stupid trailer trash story in my mind for a really long time, and all I had written was up to the point where he got to the place. So this work will be more chapters! I'm just finding that the headspace it takes me to just makes me want to kind of hang out, take some time, take a nap, stay a while lol. I don't think anyone ever really leaves Fairgrounds once they end up there.


End file.
